The Person You Were Was Real — And So Is the Person You're Becoming

There's a particular kind of grief that doesn't get talked about enough: grieving an older version of yourself. The you who had different dreams, different relationships, a different life. The you who believed things you no longer believe, who wanted things you no longer want.

It's a strange grief, because nothing and nobody has died — and yet something has ended. A chapter has closed. And sometimes that closing feels less like freedom and more like loss.

Why We Hold On to Old Identities

Identity gives us a sense of continuity. It's the thread connecting who we were at ten to who we are now. When that thread shifts — when we change jobs, leave relationships, move cities, outgrow friendships, or simply grow up — it can feel disorienting. Like the floor has moved slightly beneath your feet.

We hold on to old identities for all kinds of reasons:

  • Because they're familiar, even if they no longer fit
  • Because other people still see us that way, and contradicting their view feels like conflict
  • Because letting go feels like betraying the person we used to be
  • Because change is uncomfortable, and familiarity — even uncomfortable familiarity — feels safer than the unknown

None of these reasons are weakness. They're human.

Change Is Not Betrayal

I spent a long time feeling quietly guilty about the ways I'd changed. About friendships I'd outgrown. About dreams I'd set down. About beliefs I'd revised after learning more. As though changing meant that the earlier version of me — the one who believed all those things, who wanted all those things — had been wrong or foolish.

But here's what I've come to understand: you can honour who you were without staying there. The younger version of you made decisions with the knowledge and experience she had at the time. She did the best she could. She got you here. And getting you here was enough.

Changing your mind, changing your path, changing your identity — that's not betrayal. That's growth. And growth, while uncomfortable, is one of the most alive things a human being can do.

What Letting Go Actually Looks Like

Letting go of an old identity isn't a single dramatic moment. It's quiet, and often gradual. It might look like:

  • Telling people honestly what you think now, even if it's different from what you used to think
  • Allowing yourself to enjoy things you once dismissed, without apologising
  • Sitting with the discomfort of being in between — no longer who you were, not yet fully who you're becoming
  • Being kind to yourself in the transition, the way you'd be kind to a friend going through something difficult

The Gift in the In-Between

The space between who you were and who you're becoming — that uncertain, uncomfortable middle ground — has a gift in it, even if it's hard to see at the time. It's a space of possibility. Of openness. Of becoming.

You don't have to have it all figured out. You don't have to know exactly who you're turning into. You just have to keep going, keep questioning, keep growing. And trust that the person emerging on the other side of the change is worth meeting.

She usually is.